Descension
by Fumetsu Hitonakase
Summary: Chapter 6 is now up! A new Immortal is on the scene and he's far more dangerous than anything anyone has faced before. Complicating this, his Buzz can't be detected. And now Richie is about to find out the true strenth of this Immortal. Please R&R.
1. Prolouge

Descension  
Prologue

* * *

Legal Disclaimer: The series "Highlander", all it's different versions and all canon characters are not my property.  
  
It was a dark night in Seacouver, and stormy. The winds blew hard at an incredible 55 mph, sending scattered trash flying everywhere. Nobody dared to be out on a night like this; not even the homeless people were out, they had all sought out shelter for the night to stay dry.  
  
But like always, some damn fool decided to take their chances on the streets. But with this particular damn fool, he hadn't much choice in the matter.  
  
His feet pounded as he dashed down the deserted night streets as his legs pumped with all their might. The sound of his breathing let anyone who would listen know that he was pushing himself greatly as if his very life depending on it.  
  
Not far behind him, about half a block, another male figure slowly walked after the runner, treating it like it was no big deal. His pace suggested that he knew exactly what he was doing.  
  
The first figure dared to glace back and saw that he was still being pursued, and upon seeing that he was, did everything he could to quicken his pace but it proved futile. With fear in his eyes he ducked right, heading into an alleyway in hopes of getting away.  
  
He looked back to see just how far away his assailant was. Upon seeing that he still wasn't within eyesight he turned around, just in time to realize he had headed into a dead end alley! He tried to stop but before he could he slammed right into the old brick wall and fell to the ground as a result. With a groan of pain he picked himself up off the wet ground and looked back as he tried to catch his breath. But as he looked back he wished he didn't.  
  
Standing at the entrance to the alleyway was his pursuer. The figure's features was hidden by shadows as the streetlights cast light from behind, leaving him as little more than a silhouetted figure.  
  
Slowly, almost agonizingly, the shadowed figure began to walk forward; it was like he was toying with the scared man in a sick game of cat and mouse. And now the cat was about to get the mouse...  
  
The figure against the wall held what appeared to have been a sword at one time. The crossbar and end cap appeared to be made out of braded wire, indicating that it was a German Wald Sword. Unfortunately it was a sword no longer, less than a foot of the blade still remained in place. The rest had been cut right off, leaving it useless in this particular fight.  
  
"One would think after so many centuries you would learn never to use a stainless steel sword," the dark figure spoke as he slowly moved ever closer to the other, "that was your first mistake," he finished.  
  
Knowing that his sword was more or less useless for this battle he searched for another weapon to use. Upon seeing an old metal trashcan he cast his sword aside and grabbed the lid and threw it like a discus.  
  
The figure saw the lid coming for him and bent backwards in an almost impossible manner, his upper body becoming almost perfectly parallel to the ground, letting the lid fly past him before he regained himself and stood back up, before proceeding at his menacingly slow pace.  
  
Upset that the attack had failed, the trashcan was next. He picked it up and held it over his head, before throwing it as hard as he possibly could, hoping to buy himself enough time to get away when his stalker went down. But his hopes were quickly dashed at what happened next.  
  
The shadowed figure withdrew something large and held it over his head, before swinging it in a downward strike; cutting through the trashcan like it was nothing. The two halves of the trashcan fell beside him as he continued walking ever closer.  
  
"That was your second mistake. And it will be your last," he said as he moved closer and closer, his sword at his side ready for the final strike.  
  
The one who had been pursued was now consumed with fear. He backed up against the wall, his features unable to show the true extent of the feat that had consumed him.  
  
The stalker came to a stop only a meter away from his prey. He raised his sword with both hands and swung quickly, the blade completing a 180 arc. Just like that, it was over.  
  
Everything remained still for about a minute, no sign of anything actually happening. Then, a stream of blood began to run down the man's neck. A cut had been accomplished.   
  
More blood began to run down the man's neck at a steady, quick pace. Then, his head wiggled, before falling off his neck and to the ground, followed shortly by his body.  
  
Storm clouds began to gather quickly. A clap of thunder sounded followed immediately by flashing of lightning.  
  
From the headless body, bolts or electricity launched into the body of the stalker. What appeared to be painful wasn't, at least not from his reaction. He had thrown his head back and was laughing loudly!  
  
His maniacal laugh echoed off the walls only adding to its volume as lightning and power crashed into his body, filling his veins with electricity in its purest form.  
  
He swung his long sword and effortlessly cut through the bricks on the wall on his right, leaving a huge hole in its wake, doing something no sword should ever be able to do. And during all this he just continued to laugh louder and louder.  
  
The surge of power was spreading from the dank alleyway becoming uncontrollable. One after another the bulbs of the streetlights exploding, showering the surrounding area in tiny pieces of glass.  
  
Electricity ran along the asphalt ground until it reached the base of a traffic light. It surged for several seconds causing all three colors to flash madly before the pole finally fell to the ground, smashing the traffic light and causing a shower of sparks.  
  
Whatever had caused the surge of power was continuing to grow more destructive. A fire hydrant began to tremble madly before it was sent flying high by the water it held, propelling it like a skyrocket into parts unknown.  
  
One after another, manhole covers began to shoot off and up into the air with great force before crashing down and shattering the pavement beneath it, with one landing on its side, cutting through a mailbox like a hot knife through butter!  
  
In the alleyway the evil laugh of the stalked had slowly lessened in intensity before stopping altogether. The hunt was over and he had won the greatest prize.  
  
Behind him the body had burst into intense flames sometime during the excitement, leaving behind nothing but a skeleton covered in charred flesh and ruined clothing just minutes afterwards. With a sneer the stalked crushed the decapitated head under his boot, shattering the skull into many little pieces with a loud hollow crunch. Any brain matter that had been in the skull before was burned out before it was crushed, leaving nothing behind on the underside of the boot. As he was about to leave, he stopped. He bent down and picked up the sword of the defeated and tucked it into his overcoat. And with that, he walked off with his sword slung over his shoulder, singing a tune in a foreign dialect to himself.  
  
"Daikirai datta sobakasu wo chotto hitonadeshite tame iki wo hitotsu hebi ikkyuu no koi wa migoto ni Kakuzatou to isshoni toketa Mae yori mo motto yaseta mune ni chotto "Chiku" tto sasaru toge ga itai Hoshiuranai mo ate ni naranai wa," was all that could be heard before he disappeared, heading for unknown parts.

* * *

Author's Notes:   
  
1. The German Wald Sword is an actual sword that can still be purchased. But unlike the one in my story the real one is made of carbon steel. You can find it for sale here http:www.weaponmasters.com   
  
2. The song is known as "Sobakasu", the opening to the series "Rurouni Kenshin" which I also don't own. The lyrics can be found here http:www.animelyrics.com/anime/kenshin/rksbaksu.htm 


	2. Part 1

Descension  
Part 1

* * *

The morning was about as peaceful as it could get on a Monday morning. People were going about their business, heading off to work, school, and wherever else they needed to be today.  
  
But all was not peaceful in the loft of a particular martial arts training dojo. In the kitchen sat a particular man, Duncan MacLeod, looking miserable as he nursed a cup of coffee, trying to work up the nerve to actually drink it. He had awoke feeling terrible, which was highly unusual for him. He had been in many battles and felt many varying degrees of pain, but what he felt now was something he hadn't felt in so very long. He felt sick.  
  
"I live to be four centuries old, never suffered the cold or flu for 380 years and now I catch something. It just isn't right," he muttered to himself, still unable to really drink his coffee.  
  
Suddenly a tingling feeling crept up Duncan's spine into his brain. Another Immortal was close, right in the dojo. As he heard the elevator come to a stop he grew worried. He didn't have time to get to his sword and if this Immortal was looking for a fight it probably wouldn't go in his favor.  
  
But his fears were put to rest when he saw the source of the buzz. The youngest known Immortal, Richie Ryan, entered the kitchen.  
  
"Hey Mac'," he greeted as he walked over to the coffee maker and poured himself a hot cup, "you wouldn't believe what was on the news, it was pure---my God Mac! You look terrible!" he stated.  
  
"I feel it too," Duncan grumbled and set his cup down.  
  
"I didn't think Immortals could get sick," Richie said with surprise.  
  
"I didn't think so either but I guess there are just some diseases that are more hardy than others," Duncan replied, "...so what was on the news?"  
  
"Oh yeah. Something crazy happened downtown and nobody knows what went on. From what I heard it was some kind of weird electrical disaster. Streetlights were blown out, a traffic light fell like it had been cut down, manhole covers were thrown in various locations with one coming down and cutting right through a mailbox, a fire hydrant went missing and was later reported landing in a brothel that fronted as a pool hall. And in one old alley there were burn marks all over the walls," he explained.  
  
"Burn marks," Duncan asked curiously, "what kind of burn marks?"  
  
"I dunno they just said burn marks. But the really weird part was that there was a huge cut hole in one of the brick walls, but nobody knows what could've done it in the fashion it was in. And at the back of the alley was a body."  
  
"A body?"  
  
"Yeah, it's the weirdest thing. This body was burnt to a crisp and didn't have a head. They don't know what happened to it," Riche explained, "do you think it was the sight of another battle?"  
  
"I don't know Rich' the loser would've had to have been very strong for the Quickening to do so much damage," Duncan explained.  
  
"I knew the Quickening was powerful but I never thought it could do that much damage. I guess it's a good thing nobody was around when it happened," Richie commented.  
  
"Indeed," Duncan said as he rubbed his aching head, "for such damage to be done it must've been a very powerful Immortal that got killed."  
  
Just as Duncan finished speaking, the same tingling feeling crept up both their spines. Another Immortal was in the vicinity. The elevator sounded as it rose again, possibly bringing the new Immortal with it.  
  
"Why today?" Duncan thought to himself as he watched and waited. But his concerns were dispatched when he saw who their visitor was. "Oh, it's only you Methos."  
  
"Of course it's me. Were you expecting the bloody postman," Methos asked flatly as he promptly moved for the refrigerator and withdrew a can of beer to drink, "the night I had was rotten if you're interested in knowing."  
  
"What happened?" Duncan asked, regretting that he did as soon as the words left his lips.  
  
"Well I---Great Scott MacLeod! You look like crap!" Methos exclaimed, finally noticing his fellow Immortal's appearance.  
  
"Oh really? Well at least I look better than I feel, because I feel like shit," Duncan muttered.  
  
"Very unusual MacLeod, I've never been sick before a day in my life. How'd you get ill?" Methos asked.  
  
"I don't know. I woke up feeling like death warmed over," Duncan said as he massaged his temples, "so what brings you here? Are you just mooching beer or did you have something to tell us?"  
  
"Well both actually," Methos said as he opened the can of beer and took a drink before continuing, "last night had to be one of the worst nights in my life."  
  
"Did the rabbit die?" Richie asked with a giggle and earning a glare from the old man.  
  
"No carrot top. Last night I went out to look for a good time and I found this quaint little pool hall. So I went in to enjoy a few rounds and I met the most beautiful of girls I've seen in 500 years. Well, she took me to this quaint little room and promised to show me an incredible time, and the next thing I knew a fire hydrant crashed through the roof and landed right in front of my lap!" Methos explained.  
  
Duncan and Richie glanced at each other, their minds trying to take in what Methos had just told them. When it finally registered Richie was fighting a personal conflict between remaining serious and laughing hard; and the latter was winning.  
  
Duncan, on the other hand, was more composed than his younger associate and decided to ask. "A fire hydrant? It crashed through the ceiling and landed in your lap?"  
  
"No, in front of it. Although it was really close," Methos explained.  
  
And," Duncan paused to stifle a laugh, "you met her at a pool hall?"  
  
"Yes," Methos replied.  
  
At that Richie lost what little control he possessed. Her burst out in a silent laugh and buried his face in the bend in his arm as he laid his head on the table which he beat repeatedly with his fist before his laugh finally became audible.  
  
"What did I miss something?" Methos asked, causing Duncan to nearly lose control.  
  
"I think you should see the news and judge for yourself," as he cleared his throat, at the same time fighting back another laugh.  
  
"Why? Have they invented birth control pills for men now?" Methos asked, only adding fuel to the flames that were laughter.  
  
"No but something almost as bad," Duncan explained, "there's a reason for the fire hydrant."  
  
"My magnetic personality?" Methos asked.  
  
"This is serious Methos," Duncan said as he stood up, his tone suddenly switching from funny to serious, "an Immortal was killed last night. And the Quickening was so powerful it caused more damage than anything I've ever encountered."  
  
"What kind of damage are we talking about here?"  
  
"Blown out streetlights, manhole covers thrown about, that fire hydrant that nearly landed in your lap, and a charred body with no head," Duncan explained, recalling what he could about what Richie had told him.  
  
"That definitely sounds powerful," Methos said quietly as he held his chin in thought, "anybody we knew?"  
  
"I don't think we'll ever find out. There was no head," Duncan replied, "do you think the Watchers would know what happened?"  
  
"They always know what happens. Well, sometimes anyway," Methos replied, "I'll see what I can dig up but I'm not guaranteeing anything."  
  
"Sounds sorta like a modern day marriage doesn't is Mac'?" Richie asked, barely managing to recover from his laughing fit.  
  
"Oh dry up why don't you," Methos grumbled as he turned to leave.  
  
As soon as Methos entered the elevator and descended Richie turned to Duncan, the grin never leaving his face. "I think the fire hydrant landed closer than he was willing to admit," he said while not even attempting to fight back another laugh.

* * *

As he walked out of the dojo and over to his car Methos grumbled to himself in a Roman dialect. Today wasn't looking like it would be enjoyable. "First I'll head over to Joe's. He always has better beer there," Methos thought as he withdrew his key chain to unlock the door to his car.  
  
He was about to get in but then his right temple flared angrily with pain, stopping him in his tracks. "What the bloody hell? Where'd that come from?" he asked himself as the pain increased.  
  
He looked around to see if anybody was watching him but saw nobody. But somebody certainly saw him...

* * *

What's this mysterious malady that has affected Duncan? Can Methos find out anything about this brutal killing of last night? Who can Methos see but they can see him? And who was responsible for all the damage caused? 


	3. Part 2

Descension  
Part 2

* * *

Methos silently chuckled as he tried to picture the look on Joe's face when he told him about last night.  
  
"The damn old goat will probably think I'm losing it...eh...what the bloody hell? He already thinks I'm losing it..."  
  
Despite the attempt to forget it altogether, there was something else in the back of Methos' head that was rather disturbing to him.  
  
Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, sick...How? How was it possible? Immortals didn't get sick. Pre-Immortals yes, he found that out when he was 19 and developed an awful rash that took over his entire body for two weeks.  
  
"Oh how I miss those days, my ass was killing me for days but it was funny as shit when the rest of the village got it," he thought to himself.  
  
The memory of 80 people breaking out in spots and itching like crazy, diving into the cold water at dawn, some even rubbing their backs against trees to stop it, made his silent chuckle audible.   
  
However, his somewhat peaceful reminiscence turned into a sudden jolt of shock as he saw out of nowhere a semi had gotten in front of him.  
  
"Oh for...what's this joker doing?" Methos asked himself.  
  
It was then that the elder realized he was only inches away from crashing into the back of the truck. Jerking the wheel, Methos swerved out of the way of the truck only to find he had horrible control of it on the other side of the road. He attempted to get it back over to the other side, but it was too late, the jeep had partially turned off the road, unbalanced in between the concrete street and the dirt road beside it, the jeep flipped over with him in it, and spun several times as it rolled downhill and into a ditch.

* * *

Methos woke up and found himself hanging upside-down. He was still in his seat of the jeep, which from the inside already looked totaled. The windshield was smashed as were the windows, with small bits of glass still in place, the door had been ripped off the passenger seat, and part of the roof of the jeep had been torn, giving Methos a good view of the dirt below him.  
  
Wherever he was, Methos became aware that it had the charm of a desert, the dirt was practically powder, his guess was the area hadn't gotten any rain in the last few months. However, briefly running his hand across the dirt, it seemed pounded down, rock hard and impossible to move. Making matters worse, there were huge, sharp hunks of rock mixed in with the dirt. Methos had been hanging upside-down for so long apparently, he was getting lightheaded, he couldn't think straight and he was practically seeing everything red. That didn't help him when he tried to get a look at how badly he'd been torn up during the fall. From his position, he couldn't see anything wrong with his body, he knew it was a bad view of himself, he hadn't died, he was just knocked unconscious in the fall.   
  
Methos released his seatbelt and fell out of his seat, hitting his head on the car roof and the rocks and dirt outside of it.   
  
"Ouch!"   
  
Mildly screaming from the pain, Methos covered his head with his hands, curled up like a bug and rolled over. He kicked open the door on his side and crawled out. Getting out onto the dirt and standing up, he realized it was practically impossible not to even temporarily died, the jeep had caught fire shortly after the fall, but most flames wore out from what he could tell. The back end was banged up horribly in the parts that hadn't burned. Some of the dents were so serious, it resulted in the centers busting inside of the car, leaving large holes in their places.   
  
Methos then remembered to check himself, pulling back his trench coat and lifting up his shirt, he saw he had cuts, scrapes, burns, and bruises that still hadn't healed yet, and that was just on his chest and stomach. It wasn't until he started walking away from the scene that the pain kicked in high on his legs. Unfortunately he knew that didn't cover all of him that got banged up, and he also knew this would take some time to heal.   
  
Time? How long had he been out? Methos turned his watch around to on top of his wrist, 1:20 P.M.  
  
What time had he left the Dojo? Going on 8:30, and how long had he been on the road before the accident? Near 10 minutes.   
  
As Methos took this into consideration, despite the pain, he started up out of the ditch, and he soon realized if he could make his way out of the ditch and still be alive by the time he got up there, it'd be a freakin' miracle. As he slowly made his way up, his temple started pounding again.  
  
"God, again?" Methos asked as he placed his 3rd and 4th fingers on the temple, "why now? Why not while the blood was in my head?"  
  
Then he remembered the last time he felt the pain, right before he left. Methos had seen a few genuine psychics in his day, but he never thought he'd have something like this happen to him.  
  
"That does it," Methos sarcastically grunted, "the next time my head tries to tell me something, I'm listening..."

* * *

Duncan laid in bed, more miserable now than he was 200 years ago when he was in France, put in stocks and had peasants throwing things at him. All due to a feud between him and some ritzy pain in the ass visiting Paris, because of that, he had 2 expired tomatoes and a moldy gob of spinach thrown in his ear while he had more diseased things thrown at the rest of him.   
  
He didn't know where this headache of his came from, but he sure was getting freaking tired of it. A few hours after Methos left, so did the headache, but just half an hour ago, it returned, worse than ever. And it didn't get much better when the phone rang. Duncan shot up in bed moaning, wishing whoever was calling would just hang the fuck up. But, he got out of bed and over to the phone, and despite his thumping head, he picked up the receiver and yelled into it, "WHAT?!" But not before regretting it as it made his head pound even more.  
  
"MacLeod..."  
  
Duncan soon became alarmed after hearing the tone of Methos' voice. He wasn't his regular irritating self, he almost sounded scared.  
  
"Methos, what the hell's going on?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Wish I knew, maybe I wouldn't have been in a ditch two inches away from being on fire," Methos replied, a little cynic back in his tone.  
  
"What?" Duncan asked, "What happened? Joe called asking if you were going to even come in today...What happened?"  
  
"Can I assume from your voice that your headache is gone?" Methos asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"Well that's good, because you bloody gave it to me," Methos responded to him.  
  
"What?" Duncan asked.  
  
"I don't think I have it quite as badly as you do, I'm not staggering around like zombie and all, but trust me, it's pretty bloody horrible," Methos took the receiver in his other hand as he rubbed his temple with the fingers of his right hand.  
  
"Start back to the beginning, what happened?"  
  
"I came in and soon found you looking like cra---"  
  
"Skip ahead to after you left," Duncan said, quickly becoming exasperated.  
  
"Well, I was heading over to Joe's when some idiot came off of one road and right in front of me, so I got off that side of the road so I wouldn't hit the bastard, and I end up running off the road, and plunging into a ditch, only to wake up near 4 hours later, hanging upside down while my jeep's on fire. And if you don't believe me, haul your lifeless ass over here, I'll show you the proof I'm wearing."  
  
"What? You mean you weren't killed in the accident?"  
  
"No, apparently I was only fucking knocked unconscious for the past four hours bleeding like a stab victim, while what little blood's left in me goes straight to my head!" Methos explained.  
  
Duncan let out a slight snort before saying, "Yeah well, at least you've still got your head."  
  
"True, too true, except now, it feels like someone's put it in a fucking vice and has tightened it as far as it'll go, but that's not enough, now they're pressing it even harder so they can see my eyes bug out and watch me squirm!"   
  
"Tell me about it," Duncan groaned, "I've had it a little longer than you..."  
  
"Is the brat still there?"   
  
"Richie? No, he left a few hours ago, he said something about waiting for you back at your place...where are you anyway?" Duncan asked.  
  
"My apartment," Methos replied.  
  
Duncan's eyes opened wider than normal, "Either more of you got damaged than you know, or Richie got lost on the way over."  
  
"Or..." Methos got a little cocky, "Either he got tired of waiting for me and already left, or I'm in the telephone booth outside of the building."  
  
"I'll take the latter...he wouldn't say why he was going over, he just picked up and left," Duncan explained.  
  
"Well if the kid is here, I'll let you know, oh...and MacLeod?"  
  
"What?"   
  
"I'm going to get you for giving me this fucking headache!" With that, Duncan heard a click and hung up also.  
  
As Methos approached his apartment, he realized he failed to sense an Immortal nearby, meaning either Richie left, or didn't bother to show up in the first place.  
  
He unlocked the door and headed into his apartment, everything seemed where it was, he checked the kitchen, the fridge was still stocked, apparently Richie hadn't been by. Right now, he imagined he felt as horrible as Duncan did, so he headed into his bedroom and fell on the bed, and saw next to his face, a note. Grabbing the note, Methos sat up, and unfolded it, it read: Old Timer, Came by to discuss something with you but obviously couldn't wait 3 hours for you to show up. Signed: Richie.  
  
"Damn that kid," Methos thought as he crumpled the paper and tossed it into the wastebasket, "Always around when you don't want him, and when you're expecting him, he doesn't show up."  
  
That sparked an idea in Methos' head, he went over to the phone and dialed the number of the Dojo again, he was sure Duncan would be pissed off with him calling repeatedly, knowing he had a pounding headache.   
  
"Eh, screw him," Methos thought, "I don't have to live with him, so it doesn't matter to me."  
  
Methos heard it ring a couple of times, then he heard the receiver picked up, "What?"  
  
"MacLeod, have you told Joe about my incident on the road?"  
  
"No, why?"  
  
"That's good, don't tell him anything...I'm going over there once I recover, and see if I can surprise the old goat...the last thing I need is him going down my damn back about being reckless already while sober."  
  
"That reminds me, is Richie there?"  
  
"No, he was, but he's not now," Methos said, "I'll see that brat when I'm through at Joe's."  
  
Methos hung up and dropped down on the bed again. Near an hour later, his body had healed, so he put on his trench coat and headed out to the bar. Of course, he wasn't going to tell Joe anything about what happened. What happened with him on the road was between him, Duncan, and the piece of crap that was now roasting in the ditch.

* * *

What's the reason behind these mysterious headaches plaguing the Immortals? Why did Methos really crash in the ditch? Why was Richie at Methos' apartment? The only way to answer these questions and more will be to read on.  
  
Author's Note:  
  
1. I lack the ability to create a good filler, so my little sister (better known as Sophia Hawkins at fanfiction.net) wrote it for me. Sometimes it pays to have a sibling around, even if they are annoying. 


	4. Part 3

Descension  
Part 3

* * *

Business was slow at Joe's Bar. Not many people had come in since it opened for the day. That in itself wasn't unusual, but usually his #1 customer would've been here before now.  
  
"Where is that guy?" Joe asked himself, almost like he was expecting to get an intelligent answer. But unfortunately there was none.  
  
As he decided to sweep up and reached for the broom in front of the counter the door chime sounded, and in walked his customer in question.  
  
"I was starting to get worried. You're never late," Joe commented as he already prepared to make the usual drink that was always ordered.  
  
"I would've been here sooner but I stopped by MacLeod's. I had a bad night and just found out about the destruction downtown," Methos replied and took the drink just as Joe finished making it.  
  
"What destruction?" Joe asked, becoming interested in Methos' latest story.  
  
"You didn't hear? I was at ground zero when the fire hydrant landed and ruined a perfectly good date," Methos stated, "from everything I've heard it was a Quickening, but it's never done that type of damage."  
  
"Why didn't I hear about this earlier?" Joe asked.  
  
"Could be the Watchers were killed or got drunk that night," Methos replied. He was about to enjoy his drink before Joe could interrupt him again but before he could his right temple flared up again, causing him to drop his glass, breaking it on the counter, "damn it!"  
  
"What?" Joe asked.  
  
"This bloody headache is back worse than before!" he exclaimed and wished that he hadn't, it only aggravated the pain, "first MacLeod had it and now I do. This just isn't fair," he grumbled to himself  
  
"That's unusual. Are you sure it's a headache and not something else?" Joe asked.  
  
"Well I doubt it's a tumor, Immortals don't get them," Methos grumbled  
  
"No not that. Are you sure it's---"  
  
Joe was stopped in mid sentence as a loud crash was heard from above. Somebody had leapt in through the ceiling windows, smashing them to pieces. The intruder fell to the floor and made something of a graceful landing.  
  
Dark boots and jeans, black fingerless gloves and an overcoat, and a black motorcycle helmet with a tinted visor hid the features of his (at least it appeared to be a him) tall (nearly six feet in height) slender frame, preventing him from being identified; but it gave him an impressive, almost frightening appearance.  
  
Methos instinctively grabbed his sword but halted before drawing it completely. "And you are..."  
  
"Here to kill you..." he replied simply.  
  
The dark figure reached behind his back and withdrew a long, sheathed sword. Wordlessly he grasped the sheathe and slid it off the blade, revealing it's true magnificence.   
  
The sword had to be Japanese because of it's design, and at least 67" in length when compared to the height of the holder. The curved blade looked to measure a good 40" while the handle made up the rest of the overall length. Attached to the end cap was a long, red double tassel.  
  
Methos and Joe looked wordlessly at the foreign sword that was carried. It was truly an impressive sight and not something that a novice would choose to wield, so there were only two possibilities for this guy. He was either very skilled, or a complete idiot looking to use it for intimidation.  
  
Methos stepped out and the two began to circle, sizing each other up as they prepared for the attack. The stranger, while circling, began to twirl the sword in his right hand, displaying that he possessed a great amount of strength as well as the skill needed to do so.  
  
"Perfect, it just had to be the former rather than the latter," Methos thought as he remained ready to strike.  
  
The dark stranger had grown tired with this waiting game and made the first strike. He swung with his right hand right for Methos' neck. The blow was easily blocked and countered as Methos returned the swing.  
  
As the blade of the Ivanhoe swung for his neck the stranger ducked and slammed his left fist into Methos' stomach, catching him off guard and knocking the wind out of him at the same time, leaving him vulnerable. The fact that he had been in a jeep accident just hours before only added to this, making it even more painful.  
  
Not even waiting for the ancient Immortal to recover, the stranger turned his back to him and turned the sword downward toward the ground. With both hands he grasped the handle and pushed it behind him, impaling Methos in the chest right through the heart!  
  
Methos gasped in pain and shock as the cold steel blade ripped through his body like it was nothing. While the injury wasn't fatal it could prove to be if he couldn't recover in enough time to block the next attack.  
  
The stranger turned to face Methos and strongly ripped the blade from his chest, causing a scream of pain to be emitted shortly before he was pushed back by a rough boot kick to the chest, knocking him into a table the collapsed shortly after as his full weight was applied to it.  
  
"I am disappointed. The legends of the Horseman of Death seems to be false," the stranger said as he twirled his blade again and slowly made his way over to the fallen acient.  
  
"You're...you're an Immortal?" Methos choked out.  
  
Saying nothing the stranger raised his sword up high and prepared to ram it back into Methos' chest before he got the chance to recover. But before he could, the audible cocking of a particularly strong gun made him halt in place. He looked behind him and saw Joe holding an aggressive looking black shotgun, aimed right for his helmeted head.  
  
"I don't think you'd want to do that, unless you want your damn head blown off before you can enjoy your victory," Joe warned him.   
  
The stranger turned away from Methos to face Joe. No sign of question was on his old face, he was dead serious.  
  
"Perhaps another time old man," the stranger said and quickly threw his sword toward Joe, blade first.  
  
Joe moved out of the way to avoid being hit, but the shotgun wasn't as fortunate. It wound it mounted on the wall, skewered by the blade.  
  
Methos had almost completely recovered but before he could get up, he was picked up by his throat and held in the air with one gripping hand on his neck, squeezing tightly, making him unable to breathe properly.  
  
"Let the others know that the hunt has begun. Tell them that I will come for them just as I have for all the others," was all he said before using his right arm to throw Methos at Joe and knocked him down.  
  
Before either of them could get up the stranger dashed over to his sword and retreived it almost effortlessly. With sheathe and sword in hand he crouched down and then leapt up, leaving the same way he had entered, through the roof windows.  
  
"Great, just great," Joe said as he pushed his way out from under Methos, "why didn't you warn me?"  
  
"I...didn't notice," Methos said as he pulled himself up, leaning on the bar countertop for support.  
  
"What you mean you "didn't notice"?" Joe practically shouted.  
  
"I mean," he paused to hold his head, "I couldn't sense him."  
  
Joe stood silent with shock upon hearing this? Methos couldn't sense him? Impossible!  
  
"How could you not sense another Immortal?"  
  
"Either he's not an Immortal, or...he's found a way to hide the buzz from being detected," Methos tried to explain, causing Joe to once again go silent.

* * *

Who is this new foe? Is he another Immortal or just a warrior more skilled than anyone else? What did he mean that the hunt has begun? More questions will be asked, and the only way to find out the answers to them is to continue reading.  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
1. The sword used by the strange is an Odachi, a large katana from Japan. They're readily available   
  
2. The shotgun Joe had was a Franchi SPAS12 Shotgun. Information on this particular model can be found at: The entrance was inspired by "The Gathering" episode while the exit was inspired by "Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon" 


	5. Part 4

Descension  
  
Part 4

* * *

It wasn't much of a fight. Sleep decided to attack and Duncan fell victim to the assault of the eternal opponent. He didn't even try to fight back, knowing that he could never win.  
  
As the day continued to progress, Duncan to feel himself getting better, so whatever was affecting him must've been a short lived bug. But whatever it was he was sleeping comfortably.  
  
That is until the door chimes starting to ring with a vengeance, forcing him to wake up. As he did he could feel the buzz of another Immortal creeping up his spine. He reached over to the nightstand and carefully lifted up his katana before heading out of the room to investigate.  
  
Methos groans in pain as he leaned against the wall for support, trying to keep from falling down. His jeep accident was bad enough, but after being assaulted at one of his favorite hangouts he was severely pissed and in pain. "When I find that bastard I'm going to make him pay..."  
  
"I'd like to see that," Joe grumbled.  
  
Having his bar broken into, getting hit with Methos and then the intruder getting away scot-free was severely aggravating him. Driving Methos to the dojo only made him angrier whenever the ancient moaned in pain.  
  
"Next time I see him I'm going to wipe the floor with him. That reminds me Joe how're you set for mops?" Methos asked him.  
  
Before Joe could answer the door of the dojo opened and he found himself looking down the business end of a sword pointed right for his nose.  
  
"Oh it's you," Duncan said as he lowered his sword.  
  
"Yes it---MacLeod, did you know you look like crap?" Joe asked, noticing his friend's appearance almost immediately.  
  
"I feel better than I look. Earlier I felt like death warmed over," Duncan said as he stepped aside to let Joe enter.  
  
"Well now MacLeod I'm the one who's feeling like death warmed over," Methos grumbled as he painfully followed Joe inside.  
  
"What happened to you?" Duncan asked in surprise at his fellow Immortal's condition.  
  
"My liver called," he replied dryly, before punching Duncan in the face with a right jab, "now we're even."  
  
Duncan guessed that he was referring to the headache he complained about and decided to let it go. This time. He then turned to Joe to get a real answer. "What really happened?"  
  
"Methos came in complaining, the next thing I knew some black clad fool with a huge sword smashed through my roof to pick a fight. And he," Joe paused, pointing at Methos, "didn't even sense it."  
  
Duncan turned to look at Methos. He couldn't sense another Immortal? Impossible!  
  
"How couldn't you sense another Immortal nearby? Did you get drunk before you got there?" Duncan asked in a semi-scolding manner.  
  
"It's not my fault, dad, I got a headache seconds before our guest dropped by. And it was a boomer," Methos argued, "I sensed no buzz so it could've been a mortal. But then again he knew about my past..."  
  
"Wait a minute," Duncan began, "first, instead of the buzz you got a headache," he asked, Methos nodded, "then you say this guy knew of your past," again Methos nodded, causing Duncan to shudder, "did he say who he was or anything?"  
  
"Nope. Just drew his sword, said he was there to kill me and then it all started," Methos explained, "except..."  
  
"Except what?" Duncan asked.  
  
"He said something about...the hunt beginning. He said to warn to the others that he'd be coming for them," Methos explained as he tried to remember just what he had been told.  
  
**FLASHBACK**   
  
Methos had almost completely recovered but before he could get up, he was picked up by his throat and held in the air with one gripping hand on his neck, squeezing tightly, making him unable to breathe properly.  
  
"Let the others know that the hunt has begun. Tell them that I will come for them just as I have for all the others," was all he said before using his right arm to throw Methos at Joe and knocked him down.  
  
**END FLASHBACK **  
  
"This hunt? Is that the same as the Gathering you talk about?" Joe asked the two Immortals.  
  
"No. The Gathering isn't at hand yet otherwise all the Immortals left in the world would be migrating to one place. It must be some kind of test that this person is doing," Duncan replied.  
  
"Well if that's the case then anybody who crosses this guy is in danger. After seeing what he did to Methos I doubt anybody has the skill to take him on," Joe stated.  
  
Methos covered his face as Joe spoke, knowing all too well what was coming his way. Duncan turned to face him and asked the question that he had hoped he wouldn't, but knew he would.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
With a sigh Methos sat down and prepared to explain his defeat. "I got my arse kicked. He sucker punched me, ran me through and then threw me at Joe before leaving. I didn't even last three moves against him," Methos explained.  
  
Duncan shook his head. He knew that Methos didn't go out seeking fights, but to be known as the Horseman of Death, he had to have been very skilled in combat. And to be beaten so quickly...he didn't even want to think about that.  
  
Joe looked at both Immortals, one at a time, before heading over to Duncan's phone. "I'm going to see what I can find out about this guy. If he is immortal then the Watchers will probably have something on him," he explained.  
  
Duncan gave no argument as he pulled up a chair and sat down, holding his head in his hands. Just as he had started to feel better this news sent him spiraling back down again.  
  
"So what do we do now, MacLeod?" Methos asked.  
  
"I don't know. I guess all we can do is be on our guard whenever we head out and try and stay in public. There's never been reports of Immortals trying to kill each other when there are people around," Duncan said as he sat back in his chair.  
  
Both Immortals sat in silence, occasionally listening to Joe's conversation with whoever was on the other end of the phone. But as the sat there something came to their minds like a lightning strike.  
  
"Richie!"  
  
Richie had been gone for most of the morning. Duncan hadn't heard from him at all, that thought alone set him on edge. There was no telling just what could've happened to him. It was even enough to worry Methos, who normally didn't care much for the kid at all. In unison the two said the one thing that came to their mind at this time.  
  
"Oh fuck!"

* * *

Richie is out alone with no knowledge of what's going on, or what kind of danger he's in. If it happens, can he survive his encounter with this dangerous individual? Or will his head fall just as others have before him?


	6. Part 5

Descension  
  
Part 5

* * *

Traffic on the highway was usual for the mid-afternoon hour that it was, so riding his motorcycle offered Richie little worry about crashing. But then when had he ever been worried about an accident?  
  
Being Immortal he knew that it wouldn't hurt him (not too much anyway) if he did get involved in an accident. For he laughed at the thought of getting up and saying he was fine, after the paramedics declared him dead, wondering if it would get him on the front page of the paper.  
  
Then again when Duncan found out about this it wouldn't be pretty. When he got angry, nothing ever was pretty.  
  
"I wonder how Mac' is feeling right now," Richie asked himself, shortly before his train of thought was broken by an irregular tingling in his scalp, "hmm. Must need to switch to a dandruff shampoo," he thought as he passed through an up ahead three-way intersection just before the light turned red, "nailed it!"  
  
But as he passed through he failed to notice that a figure on a motorcycle pulled out after he passed, following behind him certainly several car lengths.

* * *

"I can't believe this MacLeod! You let out an 18 year old Immortal with no warning about the possible danger that a psycho will behead him?" Methos all but screamed as he paced back and forth, shaking his head with a fury.  
  
"I didn't know about this until you told me. How was I to know," Duncan argued.  
  
"That's no bloody excuse Highlander," Methos argued and smacked him across the face in an almost comical fashion, "wake up and smell the coffee! That boy is in for a dance with death if he runs into this black loving psycho! He doesn't even know the proper forms of combat! I've been around for five millenniums, I've seen it all, and this guy could've killed me at any time while I was on my back after that surprise move he made on me!" Methos ranted.  
  
"Well unfortunately there's not much we can do. He could be anywhere in the city, and so could this other person. The only good thing is that this city is so big that it's unlikely they'll encounter each other anytime soon," Duncan told him.

* * *

"Damn this dandruff is annoying," Richie thought as he continued to ride along, his scalp continuing to itch with a vengeance. He considered pulling over and stopped to his head a good scratching, but that thought was quickly blown out of the water.  
  
Something came into his sight, just out of the corner of his eye. Somebody was following him on a fancy looking red motorcycle. It looked like a ZX-10R but he couldn't be sure. But what really grabbed his attention was that the driver was moving up beside him at a quick rate, and carrying a huge sword, drawn and ready!  
  
"Fuck, this isn't good," Richie thought as he turned his attention back to the road and hit the accelerator to get away. But this tactic proved useless as the other driver did the same to keep up with him.  
  
Outrunning was proved to be a useless tactic in just seconds. Richie guessed that he would be forced to fight back if he wanted to survive, but fighting back while riding a motorcycle down a busy highway was an entirely new concept to him. But looking next to him he realized he didn't have much of a choice. He reached into his coat to retrieve his sword, only to come to a realization.  
  
"Double fuck. I forgot my sword! Just great now I'm a goner if I can't evade this guy!"  
  
Useless or not, Richie's only means of combat was to try and outrun his follower. He gunned the accelerator again, pushing his speed beyond the posted limits for safe driving.  
  
Undaunted his pursuer followed Richie's lead by gunning his accelerator to equal him in speed. As he pulled up next to Richie he raised his sword and swung for the back of his neck. But his attack failed as Richie quickly ducked the strike and moved to the second lane.  
  
Just as he had predicted his follower did the same, the both driving in the same lane once again. This time his follower swung from the front but again Richie ducked, followed by a kick to the side in an attempt to push him away. It gained him several inches of space and forced the driver to turn his attention back to the rode.  
  
"Get into your own lane!" Richie shouted over the roar of the traffic and attempted to sideswipe the other guy and push him away.  
  
The maneuver quickly proved useless as the other driver slowed down just enough to avoid being hit, then accelerating and pulling up to Richie on the left instead of the right this time.  
  
"This guy just doesn't give up," Richie thought as the other rider shifted control to carry the sword in his other hand.  
  
As he prepared to take another swipe, Richie dropped his speed to fall behind, effectively avoiding the attack.  
  
With the distance between them, Richie turned his bike and drove through the middle line of the highway and into the left lane with the flow of traffic, despite the many enraged honks from the other traffic.  
  
"Let's see him try and follow that," Richie thought and chanced a glance behind him but he then wished that he didn't.   
  
The other rider had not only copied his move, but decided to take his aggression out in a severe form or road rage; by stabbing the front tire of a minivan before passing it, leaving it far behind as he continued to pursue Richie.  
  
This was very serious now. No opponent he'd ever met had risked the lives of innocent people in such an extreme fashion before. It was apparent that this guy was very, very serious and wasn't going to let anything get in his way, not even bystanders or the other motorists.  
  
He knew that he had to get away as fast as possible while putting as few people as possible in danger. But as the day wore on more people were driving. Rush hour traffic wasn't far off, only an hour at best. This was going to make his task all the more difficult.

* * *

"Crap," Joe stated and angrily hung up the telephone.  
  
"Bad news?" Duncan asked.  
  
"It could prove to be," Joe said as he sat down and sighed, "I gave a description of what this guy looks like, well what his attire consists of, and his choice of weapon. The Watchers have no information on him or any other Immortal that wields an Odachi."  
  
"A what?" Methos asked.  
  
"An Odachi," Duncan interrupted, "it's a sword like a katana but it's usually around five and a half feet long. Normally they were considered ceremonial weapons or arms reserved for the highest of officials in the army because of their great size. I've seen pictures of them but I've never seen one for real."  
  
"None of the Watchers have," Joe replied, "the only thing I found out was who the Immortal was that got killed last night."  
  
"Well who the bloody hell was it?" Methos asked.  
  
"Some Immortal from Germany, his real name is unknown but he went by Gandalf," Joe explained.  
  
"Gandalf? Where have I heard that name before?" Methos asked.  
  
"He was a wizard in the "Lord of the Rings" books if I remember correctly," Duncan explained, "but what was he doing here?"  
  
"They didn't say exactly. Something about a meeting with someone but it wasn't clear," Joe told them.  
  
"So in other words we know nothing," Methos stated.  
  
"Exactly," Joe replied.  
  
"So we're right back where we started," Methos grumbled.  
  
"Well not exactly," Duncan replied, "at least we know that we don't know anything."

* * *

Richie looked back again, regretting that he did. The other rider was still behind him. No matter what maneuver he pulled he always remained behind him. Even after dispatching seven other motor vehicles he was still frighteningly close.  
  
"Whadda I gotta do to get rid of this guy?" Richie asked himself as he tried to think of something to do. So far not a single one of his plans had worked. In some cases it only made things worse.  
  
He watched in horror as the rider swung his sword again, cutting through the hood of a pickup truck, leaving it far behind him before it burst into flames. It definitely wouldn't be the last time something like that happened.  
  
"I've gotta think of something," Richie thought as he looked ahead to keep from crashing into a possible slow moving vehicle.  
  
As he wracked his teenaged mind to find something he could do he spotted something up ahead, something that just might help him out. A sporting goods store was only half a mile away. Sporting goods stores always carried a variety of things that could be used as weapons.  
  
Pushing his accelerator for all it was worth Richie speeded past the other motorists, totally disregarding the speed limits to get away from his attacker.  
  
The distance between him and the store closed quickly. He barely managed to pull in without getting thrown off his bike in a resulting crash. And although it was against his better judgment he shut off his bike before running for the store. If he left it running it would just consume more gas, and he wasn't exactly running on a full tank as it was.  
  
He lowered his helmet visor in an attempt to hide himself as he charged into the store, forcefully pushing the doors open and muscling his way past the other customers despite their enraged protests.  
  
Being unfamiliar with the store and short on time Richie did the only thing he could do. Rampage until he found what he was looking for while knocking down whatever got in his way.  
  
"Where's all the good stuff?" Richie asked himself.   
  
He saw plenty of baseball bats, both wooden and aluminum, as well as many golf clubs and pool cues. Any of these could probably cause some damage to the sword blade of his opponent but it wasn't enough so he moved on to other aisles.  
  
As he continued along he noticed he had moved into firearms. These could definitely put this guy down, but he unfortunately lacked the proper knowledge of how to operate the particular model shotguns that were in the glass racks, so he moved on.  
  
He came to crossbows and longbows next. He knew something like that would rip through unprotected flesh and even tough leather if shot right, but the loading time wasn't something that would work in his favor, so once again he moved on.  
  
Finally he came to something that looked like it would prove useful to him. Machetes. There were at least a dozen different types of machetes, all of them not behind any cases and easily reachable.  
  
He grabbed two of the 28" blackened carbon steel models and hastily moved to leave the store despite the arguments and threats of calling the cops for him not paying. He didn't care if he was caught, he would at least be alive.  
  
He practically kicked through the doors and struggled to get the machetes out of their tight plastic packaging that held the blades firmly in place to avoid injury of a patron.  
  
"Damn safety regulations," Richie muttered as he fought against it.  
  
Just as he was about to get one free he heard the familiar sound of an accelerator roar. He looked up and over to discover that his attacker had reached the parking lot and stood there, his sword still at the ready while he stood by his dismounted bike. Unfortunately he had parked right within 10 feet of his motorcycle.  
  
Richie was sure he was going to be attacked right then and there, but then he saw that the other person wasn't moving. It was like he was waiting for him, almost like he was giving him a chance.  
  
Slightly calmer, Richie finally managed to get the first machete free, before cutting through the packaging of the second. With a machete in each hand, he walked to his bike cautiously.  
  
As Richie approached, his attacker stepped out and in front of both bikes. Richie then realized that if he wanted to get his bike back he would have to fight for it. He'd seen enough movies about double handed fighting that he hoped he could fake a decent attack with his current choice of weapons. With a nervous gulp he began to move forward.  
  
"We really don't have to do this. We could just pretend this never happened," Richie offered, hoping he would accept.  
  
"Unfortunately we do," he said in a gruff voice, shooting down Richie's hopes of a peaceful exchange.  
  
"Alright, but don't say I didn't try and prevent it," Richie warned him.  
  
The two of them stepped close enough for the fight to begin but neither of them made the first move. Instead they were waiting for the other in hopes of finding out what their method of attack was going to be.  
  
They stood still, their weapons ready for the assault that looked like it would happen. As they waited Richie grew nervous. This guy looked too calm with his visor down as his arm not even trembling despite the large weapon he held with it.  
  
"Nice sword," Richie commented, hoping he could distract him, "Japanese?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Not much of a talker are you?" Richie asked.  
  
"Maybe."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes, this conversation was going nowhere and trying to distract him was useless. He decided that now would be as good a time as any to strike and did. He swung his left machete for the guy's face, but it was blocked with the handle of the Odachi. As he blocked Richie countered with the right machete and attempted a stabbing thrust, but he shifted his body out of the way to avoid being hit.  
  
As Richie began to pull back the attacker leapt back, performing a midair reverse summersault, and landed perfectly. He advanced his right foot forward while his left remained where it was. He turned his upper body to the right and raised his sword over his head, pointing right for Richie, before extending his left hand and holding it out in a "stop" fashion.  
  
Richie stared in confusion at this tactic, he couldn't tell if it was Japanese or Chinese but he was sure he had seen that stance before. Somewhere...  
  
His thoughts were quickly broken as the attacker flipped his free hand around, showing Richie the back of his hand, before flicking it in a "come get me" fashion. Although it was against his better judgment Richie charged and started swing both machetes one after the other, forcing his attacker to defend with his sword.  
  
"Hey this might actually be an easy battle. Maybe I should switch to this style of combat all the time," Richie thought as he continued his assualt, forcing his opponent to back up while he advanced, "ha! How do ya like those apples?" he asked in an all too cocky tone.  
  
To give his response his opponent twirled his sword much the same way he had with Methos, before swinging it and cutting the blade of the left machete in half like it was nothing. He saw that the sword blade showed no visible signs of wear, like it was fresh from the factory, while a quick glance at his weapons showed various nicks of varying size because of the impacts.  
  
"Oh shit!"  
  
The wail of sirens could be heard in the distance. Richie knew that it was the cops coming. Hopefully they would brake up this excitement, and if he got arrested at least he would still have his head. The only problem would be surviving long enough. And with only one machete that was still ready for combat it didn't look good.  
  
"You're gonna kill me now right?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Richie gulped nervously. A plan had come to him but he was taking a big gamble. If he failed to execute it correctly he would be killed. He had only one shot and he had to make it work.  
  
As his opponent drew his sword back and swung, Richie ducked just a second before it could make contact with his neck, and because of the sword's design the recovery time would be slow. He charged before the attacker could pull his sword back for another attack, and rammed the broken machete blade straight into his leg, causing him to scream in pain and drop to the ground.  
  
While he was down Richie took the opportunity and kicked him in the ribs, causing him to yell. He kicked a couple of more times with the same results before running for his motorcycle. Nervously he struggled with the keys to get the right one, and with shaky hands attempted to try and get the bike started.  
  
Slowly, very slowly, his attacker started to climb back to his feet, causing Richie to panic further. He grasped the handle of the machete and pulled it out of his leg like it was nothing more than a splinter.  
  
Richie fought with his bike, hoping that it wasn't sabotaged while he was still inside. Slowly his attacker was starting to limp over to him, driven by the urge to commit a beheading. But just before he could the engine roared to life and allowed him to escape before it was too late, just as the police came into view pulling into the parking lot.  
  
A police car immediately pulled in and two police officers climbed out, both pointing their sidearms for the attacker.  
  
"Put the weapon down and put your hands behind your head!" one of the officers shouted.  
  
Not only had he lost his target because of a sneak maneuver but now he was facing death at the hands of two morons that were armed. Only one phrase could accurately describe this situation perfectly.  
  
"Kuso!"  
  
Richie laughed in triumph. The police had decided to detain his attacker rather than him. Now he could get back to the dojo safely. He just hoped Duncan wouldn't kill him for being gone for so long.  
  
"Damn," he growled and stopped before the light could turn red.  
  
As he waited for the light to turn green he began to think back to the fight he had just had. He managed to force his attacker back while making him defend. But when it looked like the battle was in his favor, he swung his sword and cut through one of the machete blades easily. It then came to him like a bolt of lightning.  
  
"The rope a dope. I can't believe I fell for that old trick," Richie thought and shook his head.  
  
He himself had used that move to wear down a few opponents when he fought on the streets, before he met Duncan. He knew how to do it but he never saw it done with swords before. How dumb was that?  
  
As the light turned green Richie was about to step on the gas, but then something suddenly didn't feel right. His scalp was itching again, harder this time.  
  
"No, it couldn't be. Could it?"  
  
He chose not to hang around and find out. Instead he accelerated to put as much distance between himself and whatever he was sensing right now.  
  
He pushed his accelerator for all it was worth, which he hoped was more than the amount of gas he had left, to get out of there and back to the dojo where it was safe.  
  
As he continued along he paid little attention to the scenery, not even caring as he passed a bridge overpass, but rather just barreled on through it. But as soon as he shot through he sensed something wrong, very wrong. Slowing his bike to a stop and turned around he looked to see what was happening, before breathing a sigh of relief. It was all clear.  
  
But then he heard a familiar revving. There was another motorcycle somewhere close. He looked around for the source of the noise but found nothing. He then turned his attention back to the overpass.  
  
He watched carefully as the sound got louder and louder, trying to pinpoint the source. And then, he saw it! Someone driving a motorcycle had driven right over the overpass and was currently in midair. But what made it worse was that it was his attacker.  
  
With sword drawn and ready in one hand, his other hand holding on tightly to the handlebar, the motorcycle came crashing down on the pavement, causing sparks to fly everywhere. What surprised Richie even more than the fact that he had gotten away from the cops was that his bike was still functioning after such a jump!  
  
"Oh shit!" Richie screamed and stepped on his accelerator.   
  
This entire event was absolutely unreal, how could a motorcycle survive such a fall like that was who knows how much extra weight riding it. Right now he couldn't worry about that, what he had to worry about was escaping alive.  
  
His attacker was pulling up quickly and they were both headed for heavy traffic as it grew later and later. If this didn't end soon a lot of people were going to risk getting killed by this psycho.  
  
Richie knew he had to do something, and quickly. He decelerated to fall back enough to meet his attacker and swung for his face with his machete. As expected it was blocked by the sword's blade and then returned, which he managed to duck.  
  
The two began to trade blows and swings, trying to take the other out but with little success as the other could slow down or speed up as needed. No matter what attack was launched the other always seemed to be able to counter it well enough to avoid any serious injury.  
  
"Swordfighting or motorcycles. Mac's gonna flip when he hears about this," Richie thought as he ducked to avoid what could've proven to be a fatal head swing, before accelerating again.  
  
As Richie sped up, so did his attacker, but instead of meeting Richie's speed he sped past him, leaving him behind.  
  
"What happened? Did he just get tired of fighting or something?" Richie asked himself as he watched, his opponent showing no sign of coming back anytime soon.  
  
"Stupid traffic," a semi driver complained angrily.  
  
He was busy hauling a tanker full of gasoline and the traffic just wasn't with him today so it was taking much longer to deliver than he was hoping for, forcing him to wait. And unfortunately it was very, very boring.  
  
"I wish something would damn well happen," he growled.  
  
Just as that was said there was an unusual noise outside the cab next to the door. He looked out to see what it was and saw a figure dressed in black and carrying a sword. The last thing he saw was the sword being slammed through the window...  
  
The attacker had moved from attacking Richie to a semi hauling a tanker. He drove up to the cab and climbed to the top of the bike seat. He carefully got his balance in a crouched position and then leapt up, grabbing onto the cab door with one hand, holding his sword with the other, and letting his bike lose balance and fall away.  
  
He pulled his sword back and slammed it through the window, effectively killing the driver. With that out of the way he moved over to one of the steps and opened the door, dragging the driver out and tossing him to the pavement before climbing inside.  
  
Taking control of the truck proved little effort as he moved it into the rightmost lane and floored the gas pedal, bringing the semi to a much higher speed than it should've been going at. Once it reached a satisfied speed he threw his weight into turning left in a way it shouldn't have been.  
  
While the cab turned, the tanker failed to follow and was tipped over by the combination of the speed and the sharp turn, forcing it to tip over and skid along the ground, dragging the cab with it.  
  
Sparks flew in every direction as the semi skidded, slowing down at a gradual pace on its way to a grinding halt. The attacker climbed out onto the side of the truck cab and leapt off, landing on the pavement roughly, but still managing to keep from rolling upon impact. Rather, he landed on his feet and his left hand.  
  
He stood up and looked out in front of him. Traffic was pulling to a halt and his target had no way to go. This match was going to be over very quickly...  
  
"Oh shit!"  
  
Richie hit the breaks with all his might, nearly getting thrown off the motorcycle as a result. That crazy guy had been following him had blocked all five lanes of the highway by overturning a tanker truck. It was definitely overkill, but just as definitely effective.  
  
He looked behind him and saw that traffic was piling up. He couldn't go back, and he couldn't go forward otherwise he'd face his attacker, so he was trapped.  
  
"How the heck am I gonna get out of this one?" Richie asked himself as he began to look around.  
  
He definitely couldn't go to the side so he was effectively trapped. It looked like he had lost this fight. But then he thought of something, something big.  
  
"It's crazy, but it might just work," he thought. Richie began revving his motorcycle up, getting ready for his move. Behind his helmet he had a wicked grin on his face, almost like he was insane. "I'm coming to get ya!" he yelled and accelerated forward.  
  
Though the kamikaze attack should've been successful, it failed. Instead of leaping to the side, Richie's attacker reached out and grasped the handlebars, effectively slowing the bike down, causing Richie to freak out at his tremendous strength! Strength of this level was too unreal to believe, not even steroid abusers could hold their ground and keep from getting run over this way!  
  
"All over boy," he said simply.  
  
"I'll say, for you," Richie said and made a surprise move, cutting his attacker across the chest deeply.  
  
The attacker seemed to lose control and fell forward as Richie kicked the accelerator into high and road forward, treating him like a hood ornament. As they got closer to the tanker Richie leapt off and rolled along the asphalt of the street just second before the motorcycle slammed its passenger into the tanker hull.  
  
"Dammit it should've blown up!" Richie angrily stated.  
  
He couldn't figure out how the attack couldn't have worked, it always did in the movies. Then he noticed something, there must've been a crack in the hull because there was a puddle of something growing, and quickly. This gave Richie another idea.  
  
Slowly his attacker was beginning to come back. He straightened himself back up and started to move the motorcycle off himself, before the sound of a whistle stopped him. He looked over and saw Richie waving at him, before giving him the finger. He pushed the bike hard and almost completely off of him as he continued to watch Richie.  
  
Richie knew it was now or never. He pulled his arm back, still holding the machete, and swung it forward with all his might and released the blade. The machete spun as it headed right for the tanker and hit the hull, causing a few sparks to appear and fall.  
  
Behind his helmet the attacker's face took on a look of horror. He finally realized Richie's plan of attack, and it was going to be big!  
  
The sparks fell into the gas puddle and immediately set it ablaze, the flames licking their way back to the main source of gas and into the tanker.  
  
Richie ran back and leapt behind one of the cars, ducking down as far as he could just seconds before the tanker exploded in a massive fireball with a deafening boom. Burning hot shrapnel and flaming debris was thrown in every direction, littering the area in scrap metal and fire.  
  
When he felt that it was safe to get back up, he looked up and saw that there was nothing left of the semi but a flaming hunk of wreckage with black smoke pouring out everywhere into the surrounding area. Unfortunately with flaming wreckage littering the area it now looked like a war zone, meaning that travel would be very difficult no matter what method was used.  
  
But despite this, Richie was happy. He managed to keep his head on his shoulders, and that was the main thing, to him anyway.  
  
"Alright!" he thought excitedly. There was no way his attacker could've survived that blast at ground zero, Immortal or not. But then he was hit by the reality of the situation. "How the hell am I gonna get back home without a motorcycle?"

* * *

Richie has survived his encounter with the mysterious assailant that was chasing him, literally blowing him to hell with a bit of clever ingenuity and a lot of dumb luck. But is this truly the end? Did his pursuer die in the explosion of the tanker truck? Or did he slink away during the chaos and now currently awaiting the right time to strike?  
  
Author's Notes:   
  
1. The ZX-10R is a Kawasaki Ninja(r) motorcycle.  
  
2. I don't own "Lord of the Rings" either. As of this date I haven't even seen a single movie or read a single book about it.  
  
3. Although it's highly unlikely for any sporting goods store to carry them a 28" machete does exist.  
  
4. The fight of this story was inspired by "The Matrix Reloaded" and "Termination 2: Judgment Day"  
  
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